


Must-See TV

by fabrega



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Canon Era, M/M, Overwatch Cartoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/pseuds/fabrega
Summary: Jesse squints at the holo-vid. He recognizes that blue coat, that blond hair, that chiseled jaw. He watches for a moment as the cartoon man who's definitely not Strike Commander Morrison leads a cartoon team of definitely not Overwatch agents into battle against a cartoon battalion of what definitely aren't omnics. He recognizes a lot of these faces, actually.There's one face he doesn't see, though.





	Must-See TV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smarshtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/gifts).



> Once I found out that it's canon that there's an Overwatch Saturday morning cartoon, this had to happen.
> 
> For [smarshtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/), great beta and even greater friend. ♥

i.

"Fifteen thousand channels and there's still nothing on," Jesse says with a sigh, tapping the remote impatiently on the bed beside him. Rain beats against the window of the hotel room that he and Gabe are sharing; they're on the second day of their mission being pushed back due to the conditions not being exactly right, and while he'll never _hate_ getting to spend time alone with Gabe like this, he does find that he's going a little stir-crazy cooped up in this one room.

"What do you _want_ to watch?" Gabe asks from across the room, where he appears to be disassembling and reassembling his shotguns for the seventy-eighth time. (Not that Jesse's been counting, but he's definitely been counting.)

Jesse shrugs. "I don't know, I'm in the mood for something sunny. Ooh, you know what I want to watch? Baywatch."

"Haven't you seen those movies a million times?" Gabe asks, but the holo-vid virtual assistant is already saying _playing: Overwatch_ and suddenly the channel changes itself to what looks like a colorful cartoon.

Gabe looks up from his gun, makes a face. "Shit, Jesse, turn that garbage off."

Jesse squints at the holo-vid. He recognizes that blue coat, that blond hair, that chiseled jaw. He watches for a moment as the cartoon man who's definitely not Strike Commander Morrison leads a cartoon team of definitely not Overwatch agents into battle against a cartoon battalion of what definitely aren't omnics. He recognizes a lot of these faces, actually. 

There's one face he doesn't see, though.

"If you're not gonna turn it off, I'm gonna go take a walk--" Gabe says, standing abruptly. Jesse looks over at him, sees the scowl, the set of his shoulders, the curl of his fingers, and scrambles to shut it off.

"Sorry," he says, getting to his feet and stepping between Gabe and the door. "What the hell was that?" 

Outside, thunder rolls.

Gabe sighs. "It's part of Overwatch outreach. The story the Strike Commander likes to tell involves an adorable little African girl who was scared of him when he and his team rolled into her town to deal with a water crisis, and how he knew then that Overwatch was never going to succeed without the hearts and minds of the youth. The _actual_ story involves a whole marketing team and phrases like 'branding opportunity' and 'revenue stream'. You hook 'em now, you've got money in your pocket today and a crop of fresh-faced volunteers tomorrow."

"Why, Gabriel Reyes," Jesse says, sounding amused, stepping closer to Gabe, "It ain't like you to be so cynical."

Gabe rolls his eyes. "It's broadcast in 140 different countries, there's more merchandise than any child could possibly need, and Strike Commander Morrison's goddamn face is staring at me every time I try to buy cereal."

"You buy a lot of cereal?"

Gabe glares at him.

"I mean, you don't really want your face on a cereal box, do you?"

"No!" Gabe throws up his hands. "I don't want it at all, but it would've been nice if they'd at least _asked_. I know why they didn't, and I can't blame them--the work we do is already hard and it would be harder with my face everywhere--but it feels like one more thing in my life that's spiraled out of my control, you know?" He sighs. "Like this stupid mission. Like everything else."

"Hey, hey," Jesse says, trying his best to sound soothing, reaching out to grab Gabe and pull him close. "If there's anyone in the world who's in charge of their own destiny, it's you. You're _Gabriel Reyes_."

Gabe pulls back a little, gives Jesse an unreadable look. "You'd be surprised," he says, and pulls Jesse close again, burying his face in Jesse's shoulder.

The mission, when they get to it, goes off without a hitch. They get the intel they need, and there are three fewer rich shitheads in the world who think the laws don't apply to them. They don't get a commendation, because that's not how this works, but it doesn't matter anyway--Jesse knows they did a good job, and Gabe tells him as much, and that's really all Jesse needs.

When they get back to base and Jesse has a little time to himself, he looks into the Overwatch cartoon. Pretty much everything Gabe had told him was correct--broadcast in 140 countries, enough merchandise to choke a horse--and as he's paging through a wiki that is surprisingly snarky for how well-maintained it is, he gets an idea.

It's almost two months later when Jesse approaches Gabe in the hallway outside his room, his plan nearly done. 

"So, I know that you hate surprises," Jesse begins without preamble.

Gabe nods. "This is true." The disastrous surprise birthday party Jesse's first year with Blackwatch is practically legend at this point.

"That's why I'm telling you now that a bunch of us are in the rec room, waiting to give you a gift."

Gabe gives him a look of consternation. "What? Jesse, no, you guys don't--you guys don't ever have to--"

"It's never a 'have to'. It's always a 'want to'." Jesse's voice goes quieter. "I hope you'd believe that, by now."

Gabe's lips quirk into a little smile, and Jesse can't help it, he tips forward and kisses him. Gabe kisses back, just for a moment, and it's all Jesse can do not to push them both backwards into Gabe's room, surprise party be damned.

"So what if I don't want whatever kind of public thing you guys have planned?"

Jesse shrugs. "I'll go get the thing, tell everybody to eat the cake without you. You certainly won't get the full effect, but that's your prerogative."

Gabe stops, regards him again suspiciously. "Well, now I'm intrigued."

And that's how Jesse finds himself in front of pretty much all of Blackwatch, Gabe with a gobsmacked look on his face. The gift Jesse hands him is a framed print that Jesse had commissioned, a portrait of Gabe done by animators at the studio that makes the Overwatch cartoon. In it, he's tall and handsome and standing behind the Cartoon Strike Commander's desk, looking official, with a self-satisfied smirk. 

When Jesse hands it to Gabe, he stares at it for a long moment, then looks up at Jesse with what definitely aren't tears in his eyes. "You like it?" Jesse asks.

Gabe nods, swallowing noticeably. "Thank you," he says quietly, his voice gruff.

"You liked that, you're gonna love this." Jesse grins at him and gives the crowd of assembled Blackwatch agents the secret hand signal, and all of them--Jesse included--shuck off their regulation Blackwatch hoodies to display the t-shirts they have on underneath. Jesse's proud of the framed print, but he's especially proud of the shirts. They're bright green and have the Blackwatch insignia on the sleeve, with Cartoon Gabe shrugging exaggeratedly on the front. Under Cartoon Gabe, they say in big block letters: **I SAVED THE WORLD AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID T-SHIRT**

Gabe lets out a choked laugh. "You really shouldn't have."

"Too late." Jesse pulls out one more shirt and hands it to Gabe, who holds it up to look at it in apparent disbelief. "Wear it next time you go get cereal," Jesse says, and Gabe gives him that look, the one like he's hung the moon. There's cake, and a real feeling of solidarity, and Jesse hopes that Gabe feels at least a little better. When they're done, something like half of the assembled agents head out determined to toilet-paper the statue of Strike Commander Morrison, which certainly can't hurt.

(Later, back in Gabe's room, Gabe pulls off the shirt he'd been wearing and pulls on the one Jesse had given him, striking the same shrugging pose as Cartoon Gabe on the t-shirt, and this time Jesse lets himself push Gabe back onto the bed, strips him out of the t-shirt and kisses him soundly.)

  


ii.

The chewing out from Morrison takes longer than Jesse expects, both he and Gabe at attention in front of Morrison's desk for ten solid minutes while the Strike Commander gives them a(n admittedly deserved) lecture about safety and following orders and the countries in which Overwatch is allowed to operate--a list of countries that apparently applies to Blackwatch too, if they get caught, which they did.

It needed to be done, though, so Jesse stands there and takes it. Ten minutes of yelling he'll ignore in exchange for the lives he and Gabe saved is a trade-off he's more than willing to make.

It seems like Morrison's winding down, and when he pauses to take a breath, Jesse asks him, "You done?" Morrison gives him a death glare, and it looks like he's about ready to launch into another lecture--Jesse may have misjudged what he's willing to put up with today--but then he sighs and nods, dismissing them both with a growl and a wave of his hand.

Jesse turns to Gabe and then turns to go, but Gabe puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "Go on ahead, I have something else I need to discuss with the Strike Commander."

Jesse raises an eyebrow at him, but Gabe just inclines his chin at the door, gesturing for Jesse to get out while he can. Jesse doesn't need telling twice, and he heads for the door.

He stands in the hallway outside Morrison's office and waits. For whatever reason, the door hadn't closed entirely when he'd left--there's been a spate of that going around, and the maintenance teams are doing their best but it's a big problem that affects a lot of people--and so he can't help but eavesdrop on what's happening inside. (Well. He _could_ help it, if he walked away, but why would he?)

Morrison sighs. "What do you want, Gabe?"

"You know what this is about."

"I'm not going to apologize for dressing you and McCree down like this. We both know that this is part of how Blackwatch works; no matter how much I unofficially agree with the way you're doing things, officially I'm not allowed to." 

Huh. Jesse probably should have realized that was how it worked earlier. He's actually a little embarrassed he needed it spelled out like this.

"It's not that, it's that...that fucking cartoon."

Morrison laughs, and Jesse can't help but feel like Morrison is taking his life into his own hands by doing so. "You spent all this time pissing and moaning about the cartoon--don't give me that look, I've seen the t-shirts--and now--"

"You were trusted with this secret, and this is how you use it?" Jesse risks a glance into Morrison's office through the slit in the door; Gabe is standing a little too close to Morrison, his hands balled into fists.

"I'm not going to apologize for this either, Gabe," Morrison says. "Look at it this way--somebody sees you out in the field, tries to tell his buddy. The second guy says, 'Oh, really? Like that cartoon for kids? Are you _sure_?' First guy starts to doubt himself, you're in the clear."

"You don't get to make that decision for me, Jack. You have to ask."

Morrison sighs. "I'm your CO, Reyes, I don't _have_ to do anything." 

The conversation goes quieter, and Jesse strains to hear anything. He pulls out his comm, goes to the Overwatch cartoon wiki and skims through recent changes and additions to the show. There are a few new agents, a few new villains, nothing and no one that looks particularly like Gabe. It's been quiet for a little while now, and he finally risks another glance inside Morrison's office just in time to see Gabe deck the Strike Commander. Jesse manages not to gasp, and there's half a second where his gut reaction is _Gabe is in a fight, I need to be in there_ before he realizes how bad an idea that is and dashes away as fast as he can. He makes it back to his room and launches himself in, kicking off his boots and trying to make it look like he's been here for a little bit, stewing about being yelled at.

Gabe's only a couple minutes behind him, and when Jesse answers his knock, he's standing in the hallway looking sullen, massaging his punching hand with the fingers of his other.

Jesse looks down at Gabe's hands, up at his face. "Want to talk about it?"

Gabe pauses, which is more of a positive response than Jesse's ever gotten to that question before. Then he says 'no' and pushes past Jesse into the room.

"Anything I can do?" Jesse asks. At the question, Gabe stops abruptly and turns back to face him.

"Just...be here?"

"Of course," Jesse says, "Always."

  


iii.

(and then, of course--)

  


iv.

Jesse likes this bar. He's a regular here; they know his name and his face and are willing to keep a tab open for him, and in exchange for his occasional services as a bouncer, they're willing to not kick him out at closing time and let him sleep wherever it is that he's passed out--they've even got sofas, if he manages to make it to them. It's more than Jesse deserves, and he's going to take advantage of it for as long as he's able.

He wakes up on a Saturday morning after a Friday night of drinking alone, still a little drunk at this early hour, his face pressed against the varnished wood of the counter top. The place is quiet, the ceiling fans spinning above the bar and the sunlight doing its best to filter in through the little windows in the front. Above the bar, one of the new newly-installed holo-vid screens is on, all bright colors and comic book noises. Jesse raises his head off the counter slightly and squints at the screen. He recognizes that blue coat, that blond hair, that chiseled jaw; on-screen, the man who's not Jack Morrison is standing on the edge of a tall cliff, facing off against a man in a long, dark coat and a bone-white mask who's definitely not the Reaper. It all comes back to Jesse in a rush: Gabe, the hotel, the t-shirts, the way Gabe had looked at him, how much he _misses_ him.

Next to him, someone says, their voice a low rasp, "I'd have thought you'd've outgrown this garbage." Jesse looks over to see a man in a long, dark coat and a bone-white mask seated on the bar stool next to him. The mask is looking straight ahead, and the long talons of his gloves tap out an annoyed rhythm on the counter.

He squints at the man, then at the screen and back again, and something clicks in Jesse's head. "It's you, isn't it. It's been you this whole time."

Reaper says nothing, doesn't even look over at Jesse.

"Morrison--that was the secret he knew. You've been...this whole time. I thought you were dead, you absolute goddamn _asshole_ \--" He reaches out to shove Reaper, but right as his hand should make contact, Reaper goes incorporeal, a vaguely human-shaped cloud of mist with glowing red eyes. Off-balance, Jesse and the stool fall to the floor, both landing with an undignified thud. He scrambles to get up but is still a little drunk, and he's very aware that if Reaper wants to kill him, now would be the perfect time.

The mist slithers over the bar and re-forms behind it, where Reaper grabs the holo-vid remote and shuts off the display. The bar is suddenly very quiet.

"You look like shit," Reaper says.

"Go to hell." Jesse reaches for his gun, finds his holster empty. He's sure Reaper is armed, even if it's not obvious from here how or with what, so he very casually raises his hands, keeps them palms-out in front of his chest.

"You haven't been taking care of yourself."

Jesse scans Reaper's getup, tries to see if he can spot where his gun might be stowed, but no luck. "You tell me what the hell I've got to live for," he finds himself saying. "Tell me, _Gabe_. I'd love to know what you think."

Reaper snorts. "Justice? Doing the right thing? Any of that colorful cartoon bullshit you got all high and mighty about when you left me?"

"Don't give me that. Staying obviously worked out so much better for you." He gestures at Reaper in a way that he hopes encompasses everything that had happened after he left Blackwatch, up to and including the explosion--up to and including this.

"Like I had a choice!" Reaper's voice goes loud for a moment, obviously angry, but then he takes a deep breath, lets it out again. As his coat moves, Jesse catches a glimpse of Peacekeeper at his side. "You told me once that I was in charge of my own destiny. Did you actually believe that?"

"We all got choices," Jesse says quietly. "You taught me that--thought you believed it too."

Reaper shrugs. "You said it yourself: it's been me this whole time."

"There's always a choice you can make," Jesse repeats. "Now, if you're gonna kill me, can we make it quick? Or did you just come here to make me feel bad about myself?"

"Is it working?" Jesse may be imagining things, but it sounds like there's a note of regret in Reaper's voice. "I'm not here to kill you."

"I know, I know, I'm doing a good enough job of that myself." Jesse edges back towards the bar, rights his stool and sets it back in its place.

Reaper shrugs again. He draws Peacekeeper and sets it on the bar between them, the grip facing Jesse. Jesse reaches out for it slowly, sure this is a trap, but Reaper doesn't move. As soon as Jesse touches the gun, Reaper turns to mist again and rushes past Jesse towards the bar's exit.

"That's how it's gonna be, huh?" Jesse yells at Reaper's retreating form. "You walk back into my life and then walk right back out again?!"

The smoke swirls back towards Jesse, past him, through him, and then Reaper is behind him, the barrel of a shotgun Jesse hadn't even known he was carrying pressed against the back of Jesse's head.

"You _want_ me to kill you?" Reaper says in his ear.

"Someone's gonna do it." Jesse raises his hands again, with Peacekeeper in his right this time. "Might as well be you."

"You sound angry."

"I _am_ angry."

At that, Reaper pauses. The pressure of the shotgun doesn't cease. "What do you want, Jesse?"

Jesse sighs. "Lotta things I can't have."

The shotgun presses harder into the back of his head. "Humor me."

"A place to hang my hat. A good night's sleep." Jesse pauses, swallows hard. "You."

Reaper laughs sourly. "Me? The 'absolute goddamn asshole'?" The shotgun pulls away from Jesse's head, and Reaper spins him so they're facing each other. The shotgun repositions itself up against Jesse's ribs, and Reaper reaches up with his free hand and pulls the mask away from his face. His eyes won't meet Jesse's but he grits out, "Still? Even now?"

Jesse breathes out a disbelieving breath. "What happened to you?" He doesn't realize he's reaching out with _his_ free hand until the shotgun shoves up into his ribs.

"My destiny caught up with me."

Slowly, carefully, Jesse holsters Peacekeeper and raises both his hands towards Reaper's--Gabe's--face. The shotgun shoves once more, for good measure, but Jesse just chuckles. "You wanted to shoot me, you'd have done it already."

Gabe grunts but does not disagree, and Jesse lets his hands keep moving, reaches out to ghost his fingers along the gash in Gabe's cheek where the teeth show through, the fissures in his skin that are oozing the same smoke Reaper had turned into earlier, the burn marks and the scars.

Gabe still hasn't met his eyes, but he looks up in surprise when Jesse says, "Still. Even now." The look turns sharp, and Jesse laughs. "Never said I made _good_ choices."

What's left of Gabe's lips quirk into a smile. He lowers the shotgun slightly, and when Jesse leans forward to kiss him, Gabe doesn't push him away.

Jesse asks him: "What do _you_ want?"

  


v.

Jesse wakes up to the sound of familiar voices.

"You'll never get away with this, Reaper!" chirps someone who sounds a lot like Lena, and she's backed up by a mighty roar that Jesse recognizes in his hazy, sleepy state as Winston. Jesse--who'd gotten and resolutely ignored Winston's recall notice--sits bolt upright in the bed and gropes on the bedside table for Peacekeeper, attempting to be ready for action.

"The orb is ours, and you can't have it!" Lena continues, and then Jesse realizes that Overwatch hasn't found them, here at this cheap motel three weeks into Gabe and Jesse's new life on the run. Instead, it's early in the morning and, for some reason, Gabe has that goddamn cartoon on.

"You'll never get away with this, Reaper," Jesse echoes, falling back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted.

Gabe, who's seated next to him on the bed, facing the holo-vid screen, chuckles. "I heard that a full night's sleep was a thing you didn't get to have."

"Doesn't mean you have to _contribute_." Jesse throws an arm over his eyes and sighs dramatically. He loves Gabriel Reyes, but he doesn't like him a lot of the time. "Why are you even watching this? I thought it was garbage."

Gabe doesn't answer, doesn't look at Jesse, and Jesse rolls over to face him. "You don't have to do penance, you know."

"Big talk, coming from you," Gabe says, but he reaches out and puts a hand on Jesse, anchoring them both with the touch. It hasn't been easy, but they're trying, and that's more than Jesse ever thought he was going to get. 

He'll take it.


End file.
